My two cents on the greatest Senator to ever live...

While those who have followed the passing of Senator Ted Kennedy have seen and heard tribute after tribute and story after story about the man's storied life and career, I feel it necessary to add my own--for reasons that seem more clear to me now than they did a few days ago.

Barack Obama may be a rockstar, a man who reinvigorated America's political and civic consciousness, but for someone like me who not only follows politics closely but aspires to make it my life's work, I must say that Ted Kennedy was, is, and always will be my political idol.

This man was the youngest of nine children, and the last of three brothers. He grew up, as my mother would say, "in the lap of luxury" to a family that before his birth was already storied in Massachusetts political circles. His grandfather--"Honey Fitz"-- had been Mayor of Boston and had set the standard high for the future public lives of his grandsons.

As we all know, Joe came first, a WWII combat hero who sadly perished during that conflict. Then came John, elected the youngest and first Catholic President of the United States in 1960, and then Robert, the country's Attorney General and later a Senator from New York. To say the bar wasn't set for Teddy would be very false indeed. Tragedy struck Senator Kennedy three times in the 1960s. The assassinations of his two remaining brothers, and then of course the tragedy at Chappaquiddick in 1969. As President Obama eulogized, a lesser man would have simply given up, but Senator Kennedy persevered and became the "voice and conscience of American progressivism" over the course of the next 40 years.

For someone like me, who feels called to use politics as a means of helping others, helping those who have been forgotten in society's periphery, Ted Kennedy set the example. He crafted the Civil Rights Act, the Americans with Disabilities Act, the Minimum Wage, the Children's Health Insurance Program, and so many other pieces of legislation which strove to make this country more just and equitable.

One needed only to look at the myriad faces, over 50,000 who walked past and gave respect to his casket at the JFK library last Friday and Saturday to see how much his work had inpacted the lives of regular Americans. People from all walks of life, from coast to coast, felt the need to come and say goodbye to the man who was known as the Lion of the Senate, a man whose career can now be remembered as one of the greatest--if not the greatest--to have graced the halls of the US Senate.

I had the pleasure of meeting Senator Kennedy for a few brief moments last year, when he came and stumped for President Obama at the Bates College Chapel. The place was packed, after the event had been publicized for a few short hours. Yes, people were excited about Obama and his message, but I think just as many people wanted to come and hear Senator Kennedy speak, hear why he supported thsi candidacy. It ewas clear that his health was slipping, but Senator Kennedy exuded that presence which made him such a famous and respected official. His speech was invigorating but it was just getting to see and meet the man that had done so much good for this country which gave me the most pleasure.

The prevailing theme throughout all of Senator Kennedy's funeral was not necessarily how perfect of a man he was, but of how human he was. He was not perfect, but, as the Rev. Peter Gomes remarked, it was his imperfection that allowed so many people to get so close to him. He was not pure, but he worked so hard on behalf of those that needed his help and his example that he inspired so many more to give back. His power in the Senate grew, but instead of builiding his political capital he used it change the country for the better. Thus, while many mourn him, the message was sent by all those that reflected on his life, that his example should be used to inspire more people, to encourage the next generation, my generation, to live and work like he did.

That's what means so much to me. He was not just a powerful Senator, but he was a man that worked for the common people in a way that was so humble. He did not brag or gloat, he simply gave, and that is an example that can only inspire. No one, in my estimation, will achieve what he achieved, but as long as his memory lives people can try, and that can only bring ou country farther. Thus, when I look at the framed notecard with his autograph, I imagine the good that following his light can do for both me, this country, and this world.

What Makes a Vacation Memorable?

I surprise myself sometimes by how philosophical this blog has to become. While it really reflects the way I think I had always envisioned this being more of a travel log than an editorial column. However, I like the way it's turned out.

This is my last post from Scotland. It's weird when you get to the end of a trip how much you want to stay--and this emotion becomes even more ironic when I've been wanting to return home badly for over a week at this point. I suppose that it's more of wanting to remain in a place which is currently familiar, and of course who wants to spend nearly 20 hours traveling? Not me. In either case, I'm sitting in the seat that has been my computing hub for the last five weeks, looking out the window onto a street that has become home, and beginning to miss the tranquility and comfort that Scotland has offered me. The only saving grace I suppose is that I will be returning to this country--what has become to seem like a second home--in five short months.

What all of this leads me to wonder is what has made this trip special? The family time has definitely been nice, although having it at a constant clip has obviously taken its toll. Simply being away from Maine for a while is always nice--especially in a place which is so remarkably different that you can truly miss things that you can't experience on this side of the pond.

But what has made this trip different? I was here six years ago, as a bright-eyed 14 year old who had never been to his ancestral homeland. Unlike this trip, our time here in 2003 consisted of non-stop travel. We covered most of Scotland, a good deal of Ireland, and then traveled "south of the border" to see as much of England as we could pack into two weeks. I had no time to stop and think--nor did I have the mental stamina or maturity to do so. I simply took it all in, took a few photos, and lived my truly oblivious pre-high school life without a care.

We retraced a number of our steps this time around, and took in things we hadn't known existed last time. We went to Edinburgh, Glasgow, Stirling--the big sites, and thus early on I had seen what I really wanted to see and was able to take it all in on a different level.

Being someone who has seen 20 years of life, who has been in college for two years, and who now has a deep appreciation for culture and the small details of life--for better or for worse--I was able to really experience Scotland. The ability to live in a house, in a community, and to essentially "be a Scot" for a short while puts everything in a different light. Not only was I able to see the things that made Scotland wonderful: the food, the drink, the customs; and the bad--unemployment, alcoholism, ridiculous retail prices etc. As someone who's seen what it means to be a semi-adult in America I was/wasn't able to see/overlook the things the things below the surface that make a country what it is. Because, being a country that is relatively similar to my own, I was able to digest and analyze what made it unique.

So, what I will remember from this trip will not necessarily be all the castles, cathedrals, and other historical spots--although they were fantastic to visit--but the everyday interactions with people, watching different TV sitcoms and quiz shows, and getting to dive headfirst into a culture which is relatively similar yet remarkably different from my own. I'm thankful that I was able to share this experience with my family, and even more thankful that I will be able to return soon to experience life as a University student, an experience which I'm sure will provide me with plenty more food for thought and reflection.

Thus concludes the McCall's Scottish Odyssey 2009. Tomorrow it's off to Edinburgh, Dublin, Shannon, Boston, Portland and finally South Portland! Cheers.

Get Up, It's Football Day!

Disclaimer: For those of you out there in the blogosphere that don't like sports and especially dislike football (soccer) don't read this, because my enthusiasm might just make you ill.

The title of this post is taken from "Green Street Hooligans," one of my favorite movies and one which is well worth a watch for anyone who has the slightest like for sport. Yesterday was, for all intensive purposes, my introduction to live in-person football. Thus, while my throat recovers from 120 minutes of screaming, I'll take the time to reflect. Many might remind me that I've been down to Gillette Stadium a few times to see the New England Revolution of the horribly pathetic MLS, to which I would say if you think that's what a match should feel like than you've lost all feeling from your body.

Let me set the stage. I've been living in Bridge of Allan, a small village in Stirling County, in central Scotland. Considered part of the "greater Stirling area" many locals follow Stirling Albion FC, a small club who plays in Scotland's Second Division. Yesterday was the club's opening round fixture in the Scottish League Cup (known to the marketers as the Co-Operative Insurance Cup.) Opposing them was Ayr United, a club representing the town I lived in six years ago. The choice of who to support might have been less clear to many, but to me it was easy to choose Ayr--the Honest Men--the choice club of the two friends I still stay in touch with.

So, my friend David made the trek up the coast from Ayr, we ate a sandwich, grabbed an Irn-Bru (the best soda in the history of the world) and walked through the center of Stirling to the Forthbank Stadium.

Now, this was not the World Cup, this was not the Champions League, it wasn't even a Scottish Premier League match, but it was a time that I will never forget. David had bought me a traditional black Ayr United training sweatshirt which I proudly wore and we eagerly qued with the rest of the Ayr United faithful some half hour before game time. This was not a small stadium, in fact at capacity it only holds about 3,000 spectators, but even so it was heaven. The smell of black coffee and steak pies wafted through the stands and I finally felt that I was where I belonged.

Unlike what all of us in America would expect, the stadium was divided into two seperate stands on either side of the pitch. One was for the home support, the other for the visiting support. In larger venues the away support might only recieve a small fraction of the entire park but nevertheless it must be noted that fans of opposite teams are purposely divided. You enter and exit from seperate gates, buy your refreshments from a seperate vendor etc. Besides the obvious safety concerns which prompt this distinct seperation this divide makes it seems as if the two teams' supporters are opposing armies in a good war movie, yelling and banging things in order to intimidate or harass the other.

The twenty or so minutes before kickoff were rather quiet but right about the start the diehard fans showed up, already piss drunk at 3PM. They started the songs, something which sorely missed in most American sporting events. "Ayr Ayr Super Ayr" was chanted, accompanying "the referee's a w***er" everytime a less than favorable call was made. I rarely joined in, not wanting to make my American accent readily audible, but nonetheless such support was emphatic and contagious.

Ayr United won the match 2-1 in extra time. Scoring on a bomb from center-back Willie Easton from about 25 yards out, and a scrambling winner about 115 minutes in.

The result definitely made the day more enjoyable, but the overall atmosphere was what did it for me. While there were only about 1500 fans in the entire crowd nearly all of them were so intune with what was happening in front of their eyes, so behind their side, that I wished it would never end. Most had scarves wrapped around their necks, the crest of their sides emblazaned on a shirt or hat and no matter what the score they had something either supportive or divisive to shout.

There were no riots, no scuffles, only a few birds flipped after a nasty tackle, and epiphets yelled following a missed call. But it was just like I had imagined--the singing, the support, the devotion. I'm not saying that American sports fans are any less devoted to their teams. In fact, I would say that I am just as supportive of my Red Sox and Bruins. Yet it is the way that it is expressed. Fans are so involved in these matches--whether it be singing or swearing or dancing that I can't help but wonder why that sort of fervor is so lacking in the States. Maybe it's just not the culture--and maybe soccer's unique flavor is the thing that delivers such enthusiasm. Whatever the answer may be, if one exists at all, I hope that I get to experience that rush again. It is something I will never forget.